See You Around
by Axcent
Summary: Of course I'll see you around. You can run away, but I will come for you.


Song fic for "Recessional." Originally was a different fic, but I changed it to fit this new song I've fallen in love with. I am taking this opportunity to apologize for the lack of updates on my ongoing fics. I'm not really in the type of mental state needed to write humour and all that right now. Forgive me, for I lost my highlighter and am now void of inspiration.

See You Around

"It's so beautiful here." Matt says, looking into the streets, blinking frosted eyelashes. His eyes fall back over to me, his thin lips tilted into a smile, cheeks flushed with cold. Snowflakes fall delicately around him, landing on narrow shoulders, melting into cotton gloves, peppering carmine hair, tipping red with white. This is the last place I expected to see Matt, who doesn't like being outside; standing alone on a Winchester street corner, lively eyes flashing openly, goggles laying around his collar. It's quiet, cars pass like small things, importance drifts away. Suddenly nothing matters. He's watching me and I can't think of anything else, just the feel of his gaze, the easy smile.

"We have to go back, Matt." I tell him, softly, not wanting to break the silence. We have to go back.

He nods, still smiling, looking up into the sky, at the cold cement under his feet, at the darkening road, the street lamps flickering into life. I turn on my heel, step down the sidewalk, lead him to the bus station. He follows, like he always does, the moment broken for him, for me too. Down the walkway, past dark shops and forlorn people, heads bowed against the cold.

"40th." Matt whispers as we pass, one block, a street that holds something, holds nothing to me. The street sign says "40th" in bold alabaster.

Still snow falls, and he shivers as we sit, waiting to board, listening to the calls of bus numbers form the overhead in the station.

As clock on the wall's hands flick their way around it's face, his head falls on my shoulder, his eyes flick closed. I like to think he's dreaming, imagining something beautiful, going back to that moment, alone at a street corner. I try not to move, not to wake him, not to ruin the moment again, like I always do, everytime Matt makes his bid for freedom, disappears into the world, slips through my fingers like a shadow. Everytime he decides to run away from Wammy's, it's my job to get him back.

I know his face so well, I've counted the few faint freckles, traced every feature. I know that face so well; but I don't know Matt at all. Who are you, closed against the world, drifting through life like the wisp of a person, shutters drawn tight over your soul?

I can try to understand, try to see through everything, as we switch buses, as Matt sits and watches the passing of that street corner through the window. I can try and memorize the habits, as he sips on black coffee, blows on it's liquid surface, watches the waves rippling through it. I can wonder what he's thinking, close my eyes and pretend I'm looking into his heart, the heart I like to think I hold in the palm of my hand, keep his hand there and dream it's all of him.

And when we walk back through those gates, steel, imposing, closing us in, back up to the doors of the Orphanage, he turns to me and he says. "See you around." And the snow falls and he turns down the hallway and his voice, it's so beautiful.

I watch his back, growing smaller and smaller, stand in the middle of the corridor, pushing my hands into my pockets and letting him walk away. Outside the wind howls, beats against the window, and I slip back outside, into the darkness, look up into the sky, try to see this like Matt does. It's so beautiful here.

My boots crunch the snow as I step around the perimeter of the large grey building, pass leafless trees, sit down in the soft cold. Then I sigh, lacing my fingers through my bangs, back pressed against the rough bark of an oak. Pulling a small knife out of my pocket, I turn to the trunk, push the blade into it, slash out something that's only half true.

_Matt+Mello, _a tight heart around it, enclosing the words, keeping them inside, dilapidated, no holes, no room for escape. Matt and Mello, we'll both stay in that heart forever.

Of course I'll see you around. You can run away, but I will come for you.

See you around, Matt.


End file.
